Writing Takes Courage

... or maybe a really thick skin with a lovely layer of foolishness.

So much has happened in the past few years after I stopped writing regularly.  A lot more of my brain cells have taken their leap into senility.  Brain fog is a real and frequent companion. 

I'd also been thoroughly shamed via blog comments by a close relative who called me a fake and a bunch of other things I chose to forget or simply can't remember due to the death of the brain cells referenced above.  (I've called myself a lot of things but fake isn't one that typically comes to mind.)

Now,  I suddenly find I've been given the gift of time, the encouragement from a few dear friends and the cussedness to stand up and say,  "I really don't care what you think."  (Psst....I really do.)   I'm going to do what I enjoy, air some of my less-than-clean laundry (Oh, God, NO)  and give voice to a woman who at this time of life often feels invisible and definitely past my prime and usefulness.  (I know that isn't necessarily true but it does feel that way especially as both knees have decided to betray me and I often walk as if a walker would be a good idea.   Oh, and I randomly drool at times. . . literally and metaphorically.   The indignities never end.

My real concern:  I worry that I've lost my edge, my wit and significant parts of my mind.  (Not that I was ever some great woman of letters or comic genius.  One can aspire.)   I find more and more typos and word substitutions in my work than I did.  More thoughts begin and quickly wind their way in to nothingness.   I'm more than a little freaked out that middle-age slips into old so quickly and worry that I just don't have it any more and wonder if I ever did.    I mourn the lost of old relationships. . . family relationships. . . and have no real understanding of why a wall exists or who built it.   I look at the obits now just to see how old the dearly departed are/were so I can compare my age to theirs and marvel at my luck in remaining alive.

I insist that I at least maintain the idea that I am still relevant to some.  Time does have advantages.  I understand things I didn't when young and yet a whole lot of things are a lot more confusing: TV remotes, Alexa, the buttons on my smart phone, fast-food ordering kiosks, parking meters, automated phone systems....   Confusion is my new normal.  Those answers I was so sure of a few short years ago. . . they are mostly questions now but questions that can be tolerated and accepted. 

My biggest question of the moment is why I started this months ago and gave it the title "To: Madam Butterfly?"  I have no idea, but will do some research, try to guess what my thinking was and then share it with you.  Thanks for reading!